What Friends Are For
by Fire Frog
Summary: What the title says.


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Warnings - Two, Australian spelling - beware! And one bad pun.   
**Summery - **Just what the title says.**   
Comments - **Book based (ie Stephen is way smaller than Jack).  
**Disclaimer - **All characters belong to Patrick O'Brian, the wonderful writer who created them.

What Friends Are For.

By Fire Frog.

Jack firmly shut the cabin door on Killick's disapproving face. He could look hurt and offended all he liked, Jack wasn't letting him near his hair.

"Doctor, are you ready?"

Stephen Maturin looked up from his small selection of instruments and nodded. He brought a chair round next to the table and sat, then gestured for Jack to take his place on the floor, between his knees. 

Jack sat and felt Stephen's fingers run through his hair, rubbing in a generous amount of some oily solution. This went on for some time, as Jack had rather a lot of hair to cover, and the movement of Stephen's fingers on his scalp produced a wondrously soothing affect. Had he reason to relax at anytime in the future Jack considered that he might ask the doctor if he'd perform this little manoeuvre in a medicinal way. 

But then again, maybe not. Stephen could be terribly meagre with his time, especially if some rare black footed bird were about. Not that Jack begrudged him his hobby, not at all. Just, it took so much of his time….

Stephen ended his ministrations and picked up a little fine-toothed comb and drew it through Jack's long yellow hair. Or, he tried to.

"Argh! You stupid man, from the bottom, or there will be knots all the way up! Really Stephen, have you never combed a fellow with long hair?" Jack gave him an indignant (not to say pained) look.

Stephen paled, but then his lips compressed and he gave a sharp tug to his patients oil coated locks. "Sit still, or we shall be all day at this and we'll miss our dinner."

Jack was suitably depressed and settled back to his former position. This time Stephen started at the tips of his hair and combed slowly higher. Three times he stopped and picked up the cloth lying by and wiped the comb on it, murmuring with satisfaction as he did so.

Eventually he had combed the entire mane and he drew it into a quick plait then tied it off, pleased with his handiwork. 

"Your turn, sir." Jack growled, a hint of revenge fuelled devilment shinning in his eyes. Stephen gave him a long-suffering look and they swapped places, Jack pouring way too much of the oily substance into his hands. He brought them down with a smack onto Stephen's head and ruffled the doctors much shorter crop of hair with every sign of enjoyment. Stephen sighed, he should have known Jack would be this way.

Once he had his friend sufficiently oiled up Jack took the little comb and carefully, gently, began combing. 

One, 

two, 

three…. 

He ended up with thirty of the dead little beasts, no wonder the doctor had been somewhat irritable of late. He combed the doctor's thatch all over one more time, to be certain he had every last one, then put the little comb aside and rested a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"You should come swimming in the ocean more with me, old Stephen. The salt water seems to keep them away."

Stephen hesitated before nodding. He should like very much to be free of his unwelcome guests, but on the other hand…sharks. And although with persistence Jack had taught him how to float, swimming itself had yet to be mastered.

"Don't worry, I'll look after you." Jack told him, thinking much the same thing. Then realising how late it had grown he reached under the doctors arms and hoisted him to his feet, himself following closely behind. "And now we must get ready for dinner. There is to be a spotted dick, or so I have heard." 

Stephen blanched, he'd eaten a lot of the gelatinous pudding as the years had gone by, and he could not greet its appearance with delight.

"And we shall have all to do again next week, I suppose," Jack was saying, eying the bottle, comb and cloth sitting on his table. "And then again and so on until the vermin are completely gone?"

/Horrible great gobs of pudding,/ Stephen was thinking with loathing, /piled up on my plate because the others think I need a treat, need 'feeding up'. Er…what did Jack say?/ 

Ah, yes, he was asking about the ferocious head lice that had come aboard at Intercourse Isle with the new cook and Stephen groped blindly for something distracting to say. "Yes, or we shall never see the louse of them," he tried.

It was a feeble jest, but Jack laughed anyway. Then side stepping the doctor he went and retrieved their coats. They pulled them on and the captain took Stephen's arm to steer him towards the door. "The louse of them!" he smiled. "Just wait until I tell Pullings that one!"

And they left the great cabin together, not wanting to be louse for dinner.

The End.


End file.
